i looked in the mirror today and was startled by the image of myself. my hair hasn't been this long in 4 or 5 years, and before that, it had only been long once. hair is a strange thing; the way people use it to say something about themselves, or to cauterize grief, or to initiate some life change...

i have always loved cutting my hair, like shedding old skin: translucent, reptilian layers, seeing little extensions of myself falling to the floor. my version of a power cleanse. whenever i felt bad, i cut a little away, and whatever ailed me seemed to get cut away too, or at least swept away. i see myself differently now, as i really am, without the conflict and shame that comes with adolescence.

maybe it's just the weather, but i'm feeling pretty good.

i found a feather in a book of short fiction. it's been in there for months. i was walking to class one day and there they were, feathers everywhere. so i tucked one away and forgot about it until i flipped through the book today.